On Whom The Moon Doth Shine
by unholyconspiracy
Summary: Dark Sun Gwyndolin is the last deity remaining in the golden city of Anor Londo. His faithful companion has sworn to await the linking of fire by the god's side, but their power is weaker each day. Hope fluorishes anew with the arrival of a brave undead. Is he the chosen one? Focusing on the relationship between Gwyndolin and his Darkmoon Knightess.
1. Chapter 1: The Lost City

**Chapter 1: The Lost City**

* * *

"Master, allow me..." she repeated in fear that she had not been heard, but he silenced her with a glance full of pain and frustration. Without hesitation she began to clean the wound. Gwyndolin hissed when she touched his skin, still freshly scarred by the ones foolish enough to challenge a god. And though the darkmoon magic had never failed them, she has seen Gwyndolin going weaker each day.

"I'm finished, master" the knightess whispered, gently pressing a clean cloth against the man's pale chest, now covered in scars, burns and bruises, much like her own. He nodded in gratitude, and in a blink of an eye all of the traces of battle disappeared, revealing the immaculate body of a god. But the looks upon his face hinted it was only an illusion. Just like everything in this forsaken city.

"Master, can you stand? Shall we retreat?" the woman asked faintly, but the echoes magnified her voice in an eerie way.

"Retreat?" he replied and cleared his throat right away, startled by the weakness in his voice. "What dost thou mean? Dost thou wish to flee? Abandon the post?"

"No, of course not, I just... I fear about you- about your condition, master." they walked out of the chamber slowly to get some fresh air, like they always would before parting ways. "Perhaps we could leave just for a moment, so you could restore your strength. The Blades can keep watch on the cathedral."

"No, 'tis forbidden. I shall remain here until the day Father's legacy is inherited by the one worthy of it." he breathed in, staring at the distant moon, but then he turned around to see his comrade. Her face was horrifically disfigured, yet somehow brought solace. "Ailith, I hold thee august and loyal of a companion, but ne'er might I leave this very land. 'Tis my final duty to repel the cursed ones."

They stood in silence for another few minutes. And it was not a consoling kind of silence. There was no wind, no birds, not even the slightest hum of flowing water. Ailith was used to this grim picture, which despite of being so still, was not at all calm or peaceful. It almost felt unreal, and in fact, it was. The majority of once glorious Anor Londo was nothing but a beautiful lie. A golden monument rotten through the core. _How ironic_ , the woman thought. _So am I_.

"Farewell, master Gwyndolin. I shall reunite with you the following night." the knightess bowed before the man prior to putting her helm on. She was about to turn around, when she felt a touch on her shoulder. Ailith dared to look upon the god. His silver image was as magnificent as it was sorrowful.

"I thank thee." he said softly.

When Ailith returned to her post on the other side of the rotating bridge, it was already dawning. A faint ray of sunlight filled the area with contrast, illuminating it, but also casting long shadows of the sleek, tall buildings of the city of gods. For a newcomer, such sight would be breathtaking and magnificent. But for the knightess it has become mere a prison. Lordran has been descending into darkness, and if not for Gwyndolin, she would have abandoned all hope a long time ago. But was time really passing anyhow? It felt like an eternity of recurring torment.

As Ailith walked into her chamber, the crackling of the bonfire struck her with a thought. How come she was sworn to protect the fire yet held so much darkness within her soul? And every now and then she caught herself thinking that it was the darkness that would eventually bring peace, since the flame was destined to fade. This thought she always brushed aside as quickly as she could, stricken by guilt and fear of losing the alliance with her master, who, much like her, was a being of darkness. The difference was her being human and him, a deity.

Her reverie was interrupted by a loud noise from outside the chamber. The Fire Keeper readied her dagger with caution, but did not yet unsheathe her weapon, waiting motionlessly. First, she heard a few quick metallic sounds. _Sword fight_ , she thought. A moment later, the ruckus of something very heavy hitting the ground. Must have been the giant sentry. This was not a good sign. Ailith unsheathed her estoc, ready to defend herself. Her dagger shone viciously in her left hand, reflecting the warm light of the bonfire. She listened, at first hearing nothing, but then she noticed light steps, almost completely muffled by the crackling flame. They got louder as the enemy drew closer. Soon, a dark silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. The person slowly walked down the stairs, revealing more details of his apparel. He was wearing a worn out leather chestplate and mismatched black greaves. A gargoyle's decorative helm adorned his head.

The Fire Keeper lowered her weapon, but remained steady. She took a closer look at the intruder, analysing the situation. In case of attack, there was no way of escape for her. She would have to fight. But despite the odd outfit and a giant sword in his hand, the stranger did not seem to be a Hollow. At least not fully, since he did not attack immediately. Ailith decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, placing the estoc back in the scabbard. The man mirrored her action and approached the bonfire.

"Forgive me. It is better to be cautious nowadays." the knightess said. "You are a rare visitor. Welcome to the lost city of Anor Londo" she greeted him with a grin, even though he could not see it from behind her brass helm.

"Thank you." he replied "It is a relief to finally encounter a friendly figure. I am on a long journey."

 _Friendly_ , Ailith thought, _we shall see about that._ She leaned against the wall, crossing shoulders.

"If I may ask, who are you?" he continued.

"Well… I am the Keeper of the bonfire. If not for me, what beacon would there be in this lost city?" She immediately thought of Gwyndolin and the promise to keep his presence a secret. "A gatekeeper and a guide. That is my calling."

"A keeper" the man took his funny helm off, revealing a shocked expression on his tired face. He looked young, yet the dark circles around his eyes and a large scar across the cheek spoke volumes. "Could you perhaps…" he paused and started to look through a small sack he carried, soon pulling out a radiant object. It looked like a white flame dancing in his palm. Within it twirled several dark particles. It was a soul, and even though unlike any Ailith has ever seen, she well knew what kind of soul that was and that knowledge filled her with unexpected sadness. After all, she held the same one within her bosom.

* * *

Gwyndolin sat before his Father's coffin. He thought of him and of Gwynevere. Of his elder brother. Of mother. Why did they abandon him? Was his mission of protecting the capital really that important? Or maybe it was a mere explanation of why they left him all alone. Gwyndolin blamed humans for the downfall of the golden age. For the parting of his family. Human pests, spreading the disease like lice. Even the Great Lord Gwyn succumbed to this dreadful curse. All for naught. That was why the guilty had to be punished.

"This very spot marketh my father's grave." the Dark Sun said to himself. "And it marketh mine as well."

* * *

The warrior unlaced his armor, growling lightly. A small pool of blood gathered on the floor by his knees. To a mortal, it would be a lethal wound, however an undead could withstand much more. The damaged torso of the man reminded Ailith of Gwyndolin's from the other night. She bent down to help the newcomer, used to aiding her master.

"Thank you." the man said. "It is long since someone truly eased my journey." He muffled a scream of pain as the knightess was taking care of the deep cut left by a broad blade of Sen's Fortress' manserpent. "I am on an important mission. But I bet you already know all about the prophecy."

"If you truly are the chosen one… proceed through the city. To Lord Gwyn's old keep. There, a revelation shall visit thee." the Fire Keeper replied with a dose of cynicism, imitating the speech of Gwyndolin. She finished her work, wrapping up the wound with a linen cloth. Then she turned around and picked up a tiny bottle glimmering with gold, though seconds ago it was emerald green. "Here" she handed the flask to the stranger. "I used the power you bestowed upon me to enrich your Estus. May it serve you." The man smiled gratefully and sat back, his spine against the wall.

"If you require rest, now is the time. That is, after all, what the bonfire is for." the woman's voice was warm, but with a slight cheek to it. Before she walked out, she remembered something. She knelt down the bonfire and took one of the charred bones that rested among the ashes. It cooled quickly, so she handed it to her companion. "Take this. It may be of use." Without waiting for the response, she turned around and headed towards the exit. "Now get some sleep." she added, looking backwards.

* * *

The sun was at its highest, maybe starting to lower already, but despite its great brilliance, it was quite cold. Ailith decided to take a walk, so the visitor could sleep in peace. A little patrol was in order anyway. The knightess proceeded forward and down the elevator leading to the rotating bridge, but to her surprise, the Gargoyle sentry was not present there. The woman took a step forward, but before she could reach the rotating bridge, it spiralled down, depriving her of further path. The intruder was dangerously close to Gwyndolin's abode.

Ailith unsheathed her weapon, thinking of a quick way to get down, but something spoiled her focus. A distant scream resounded through the city.

And all of the sudden the skies went dark.

* * *

 **A/N I hope you don't mind me giving the Lady of the Darkling a name. And for bending the canon to my own interpretation. If you enjoyed it, feel free to drop a rewiev and await the second part which is in the making. May the moon shine upon you.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Twilight in His Eyes

**A/N** Sorry for the long break, I somehow couldn't focus on writing and when I finally did, I created a stupid plot hole so I ended up rewriting the whole chapter. Anyway, here it is.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Twilight in His Eyes**

Darkness engulfed the city like the sea covers the rocks on the shoreline. Cold crept upon the capital, veiling it with vile silence.

Ailith, the Blade of the Darkmoon, was standing at the edge of the pathway leading to Anor Londo's grand cathedral, her heart racing. The way was cut off. Gwyndolin was in danger. There had to be another way to get to the tomb. The knightess looked around quickly, full of fear, but still steady and sharp-minded. She run back to the elevator, but instead of going up the stairs, she turned right, dropped down onto the platform beneath the edge of the walkway and climbed the flying buttress extending from the nearby building. She swiftly made her way to the rooftop, thinking of a way to get inside. There only seemed to be one.

Ailith kicked the window before her, but it was quite sturdy. She hit it repeatedly, until the glass shattered, allowing her to enter.

The Fire Keeper found herself on the highest story of the building, thinking of how to reach the bottom. Jumping was out of the equation, since a fall here would mean a certain death. Without further thought, Ailith ran up the ladder leading to the rafters, threading as carefully as she could. Looking at the distance between her and the floor send shivers down her spine. The guardians, who usually patrolled the area, were nowhere to be seen.

Swiftly, the woman got over to the other side of the chamber. There was a doorway leading outside in front of her, but when she rushed there, the lever used to control the bridge turned out to be broken. Someone must have smashed it with a heavy object, for the stone was completely crumbled.

Ailith was at an impasse. And deep down in her bones she had a feeling the Dark Sun was in danger.

* * *

The bonfire was humming its otherworldly lullaby, filling the rectangular chamber with warmth and orange-tinted light. An undead was resting beside the flame. He did not remember his original name, so he chose one for himself: Trian.

When the warrior awoke, all of his body hurt. The wounds were still fresh from the battle of the other night, but if not for the aid of the Fire Keeper, he could have not survived another day. And although death was not the end of the road for him, he well knew how painful it was. The soul being ripped from the body like dried blood stuck to a bandage. And the risk of going hollow was too much to take lightheartedly.

Trian looked around with heavy eyelids, but the chamber was empty. Darkness crept inside through the doorway, repelled only by the light of the bonfire. Was he really sleeping all day?

Led by a compelling feeling, the man stood up slowly and put on his armor. Before exiting, he took a sip of Estus to weaken the pain.

It took a while for Trian's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the night outside. There was something unsettling in this gloom, as if something terrible was going to happen.

The Fire Keeper was nowhere to be found, neither was anyone at all. _Is she in danger?_ the warrior thought before taking the elevator down. As soon as he walked outside, something shrieked loudly. It wasn't long before a beast landed on the pathway ahead. It looked like a winged humanoid lizard covered in green patina, its head armoured by the very same helm Trian was wearing. He was familiar with this foe, because he was forced to fight two of these a few weeks ago. This particular one, though, seemed much more menacing.

The monster roared terrifyingly and swung its halberd. Trian dodged it at the very last possible moment. Thinking of a strategy, he pulled out his greatsword, attached to a belt on his back. The gargoyle got closer, flapping its feet in a clunky way. It was swift aloft, but quite awkward on the ground. This could be to its disadvantage.

The warrior rolled to the side, avoiding another blow from the adversary, who shrieked again and spit out a barrage of lightning. For once, Trian was grateful for wearing his worn out leather apparel. He leapt to the other side of the pavement, circling the foe. What he didn't expect was the tail of the beast slamming him against the fence. At least three broken ribs.

The gargoyle jumped into the air and dove right back, to deliver the deadly blow, but Trian deflected the attack with his sword. Sparks flew and the monster jumped over the warrior, launching into the air again. This time, though, his axe-shaped tail hooked Trian's laced vest, throwing him over the chasm with great strength. The man landed a few feet down on the rotating part of the bridge, painfully breaking another few bones. As much as he wanted to fell the beast, he valued his life and humanity, deciding to retreat. The gargoyle was out of sight, so Trian got up, not without trouble and looked around. On the center of the octagonal platform, there was a large crank. The man walked over to it, limping, and turned it without much hesitation. The structure moved abruptly, throwing the warrior out of balance, causing him to push the lever even further back.

* * *

Ailith heard the sounds of battle from outside the building, so she ran to the balcony in front of her. A gargoyle sentry was flying in the distance, now turning and heading back to the rotating platform, which began to spin upwards. Soon, the knightess was able to go on. She unsheathed her estoc, ready to aid her new accomplice, but the next thing she has seen was the beast falling over the edge with a greatsword pierced through its chest, its wielder still clinging to the pommel. That is how Ailith first saw Trian's death. But there was no time to waste on mourning, since Gwyndolin was in danger. She turned the crank, sending the platform back down.

Before descending, she focused her thoughts into a prayer:

 _Hark, Dark Sun, the lastborn of gods, lend me the animus withdrawn from thy soul, for my reprisal to be victorious. Let the vengeful moonlight amend my blade for the adversary to yield under. Mine oath shall be eternal, for with thy blessing the moon doth shine on me._

The blade of the knightess' estoc illuminated with brilliant light of the moon.

* * *

Priscilla was sitting on the edge of a stone rotunda, her legs dangling down towards the black abyss. In the distance, snowy pines painted dreamy landscapes. Dark, cold and very gentle.

An unkindness of ravens flew by. _A bad omen,_ Priscilla thought. She had a feeling someone would soon arrive.

* * *

Gwyndolin send flying a hailstorm of enchanted arrows, which pierced the air viciously. The enemy ran to the side of the corridor and took cover behind one of the pillars.

"Heretic!" the Dark Sun taunted with rage "Thy sins shan't go unpunished!"

The god raised his staff, focusing silver energy in his palms. An orb of moonlight shone brightly as he cast it towards the intruder, who tried dodging, but was too slow. Struck by the spell, he felt as if a thousand needles transfixed his body. The ricochet pushed him away, to the far side of the corridor, which now seemed endless, malformed by Gwyndolin's deceptive illusion.

As the Dark Sun rose upwards on his serpentine limbs to send the final arrow, someone barged in and shielded the invader. It was a knight, but his body was completely spectral, as if he was not a part of this world. These specters were known as phantoms, but never had they been maleficent enough to try to battle a god. They were, after all, sworn to protect warriors from harm by Lord Gwyn's decree.

"Traitors!" Gwyndolin exclaimed, lifting his bow towards the ribbed vault. As he shot a single arrow, it vanished into thin air. In its place appeared a whirling cloud, expanding quickly all over the ceiling.

The intruder and his phantom stood up, only to be surprised by an ceaseless rain of arrows shooting from above. The spectre knight raised his shield and rushed ahead, his master right behind him. The Dark Sun focused, warping a few feet backwards, but he was too slow. The opponent's sword reached him, severing two serpents, which fell on the floor and, hissing terrifyingly, crumbled into silver dust.

The arrows stopped raining down right after two of them struck the phantom's left arm, causing him to drop his shield. Thrown off, he did not notice the next incoming attack. A hail of moonlight missiles hit him all over the spectral body, cutting the flesh like icy glass. The shade kneeled in pain, vanquished.

The other enemy swiftly rolled to the side, however he emerged back into the open as soon as the spellwork was over. He lifted up his warhammer and charged right back into the fray. Gwyndolin braced himself, conjuring a beam of light, which reflected one blow of the bludgeon, before shattering. The next attack knocked the air out of the god's lungs, sending him to the ground. It was the end. He dropped his scepter and before he could reach it, the intruder took another swing. It would have crushed Gwyndolin's skull, but suddenly it changed its trajectory, only hitting the shoulder. The Dark Sun noticed what happened: someone pierced the man's chest with a shining, thin blade. Right in the heart.

Then the god fainted.

"Master! Can you hear me!? Master Gwyndolin!" the voice sounded otherwordly, like it was coming from beyond a wall. "Please, open your eyes!"

He did, although he wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real.

For a second, Ailith saw something in his gaze. And this eerie twilight within terrified her. She ripped apart the god's robe and pressed the fabric against the deep wound. The shoulder was completely smashed, revealing the bone. Scarlet blood gathered on the floor, creating a growing pool.

"No… no…" the man groaned "'Tis not how things end…" He looked at his companion's face, pale and tearful. The pain was too much to endure, even for a god. He drifted off again.

The Fire Keeper panicked. The rag in her hands was already soaked with blood. She tossed it aside and grabbed her divine amulet. It was then, when she whispered her most sincere prayer.

"Godmother Gwynevere, kiss thy progeny with thy mending sunlight. Chase away death, like the sun repels the night. Guide us, heavenly daughter, elucidate our ailing bodies with thy sweet anodyne. For we live to protect the flame by thy blessed covenant."

Gwyndolin breathed in, still unconscious, but noticeably relieved. Ailith felt a slight sedation.

The illusions now wore off. He was lying in her arms as he truly was. Fragile. Damaged. Weak. His pale skin was covered by scars, some fresh, some very old. His lean shoulders fatally bruised. Dried blood created a massive clot across his thigh, in the place where the attacker cut off the illusory serpents.

And his face expressed the deepest grief.

But in all of that, he was beautiful. Divine. And there was something in his true image Ailith found amazing. Perhaps the fact he was so much like her. Hiding his pain behind a mask of glory.

She cried, whispering another healing miracle.

Little did she know it was the last time she prayed to the gods.

* * *

Trian awoke by the fire, his head bursting with pulsating pain. But overall he did feel better now that he was reborn once more. The scars vanished, leaving only a slight swelling to the left of his sternum. He checked carefully if it has expanded much. It was hot to the touch and very unpleasant. But it would never fade. It could only be stopped from growing.

Someone walked in slowly. The warrior lifted his head to see the Fire Keeper has returned. But she looked kind of different, even if Trian didn't really see her, the brass armor seemed less shiny this time. The bonfire also seemed to glow weaker.

"I must thank you." Ailith spoke after a long while. Her voice was cold and raspy. "If it were not for you… I would be in great danger. You truly are the hero this land needs."

The woman silently took off one of her gauntlets, revealing her dark hand, which looked almost like it was dried. _She must have been badly burnt_ , Trian thought. The knightess slid a ring off her slender finger and handed it to the man before her.

"Please, take it. This is all I can do to thank you."

He accepted the gift, turning it in his own fingers. The ring was made of smooth dark silver with no etchings.

"May its spell protect you in your journey."

The night was peaceful. But the moon did not shine upon the sky.

* * *

 **A/N** If you liked it, let me know in the reviews. There are two more chapters to go, so stay tuned.

May the moon shine upon you.


End file.
